Imagine
by ms. tomato
Summary: Tuesday finds herself washed into Radiator Springs much like Dorothy in the world of Oz. Finding friends and family in cars, the human fits snugly in hillbilly hell. But of course, there is that question about going home. FillmorexOC
1. Chapter 1

Oh howdy. First Cars fanfiction, because I thought it would be interesting, writing with a new concept and context, but my car anatomy's a bit bad so please pardon that.

Set post Cars 2, but with Doc Hudson still around. I just can't let the old man go.

Cars owned by Disney/Pixar. I only own the Wintersons.

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><p>It was the endless sound of rubber on asphalt. The incessant engine revving, or whatever it was that made cars go 'VRRRRRMMMMM' was on loud speakers.<p>

_Mom didn't get those Bose stereos just for Formula 1 DVDs._ Yet, that's what they're being used for. _Only_ being used for. They were for action movies, concert DVDs, MTV, music…

_Oddly_, the sound of speed _did_ seem like music to the ears.

But not when one is doing art coursework.

The moleskine was shut with a meaty thud and a pair of bare feet met the carpeted floor with an even louder thud. "I swear I'm going to rip your F1 collection to shreds. Can you please stop watching reruns of the 2010 race in Singapore?"

"Nah. You like Hamilton too much." The boy smiled, "and you can't rip DVDs into shreds. It's physically impossible unless you're the Hulk."

Cue exasperated sigh. "He's the only guy I know. Besides, he had an accident that time. Now I have to do my work. Bugger off and go watch it in your room."

"Nah. The living room couch's a nice place." The teenage boy gave the white cushions a nice pat. "Plus the 46-inch TV and mom's sound system… Why don't you go to your warehouse—"

"Studio."

"Whatever. I'm trying to watch here." The boy waved his sibling off.

The girl stood up to exit. "Bugger," she mumbled. Her other complaints were drowned out by the sound of zooming cars and voices of enthusiastic commentators.

Mint-green painted nails looked almost neon in the dark, as fingers pushed the button on a remote, opening a garage door. It was a second garage the Wintersons had made to house and hone their daughter's creativity. Sometimes in the form of a mass of creative mess, but it was still called art anyways.

The metal shutters went up, and a pair of feet in yellow flip-flops found themselves on familiar wooden floorboards. Brown eyes met wooden carvings of letters stacked on each other like a totem pole on top of an architect table. "Tuesday," it read.

_Seriously, Mom, I still can't believe you named me after the day I was born. Why wasn't Tim named Saturday, then?_

She gave out a small chuckle and shrugged the question off yet again. There are some mysteries in this world that aren't worth solving.

Tuesday sat on a computer chair and rolled her way to the radio, turning it on, then rolled off to the other wall of the room, checking if her oil painting had already dried. She stuck an index finger out to touch the colorful surface, only to find that an orange color stuck it. "Oh, ya can't rush art, but we've got deadlines…" she said to no one in particular.

Rain started falling, creating a nice ambience for painting. The shutters were put back down to prevent the water from getting in.

Rolling off to another corner, Tuesday picked up some brushes and a palette, and made her way back to the canvas.

_The rain's starting to pour. We're suspecting flooding to happen again down Orchard Road._

"Well, that means free H&M for everybody then," Tuesday commented while dabbing paint on the canvas. Last time Mossimo Dutti's stock was washed out into the streets. Why not H&M this time?

_There's no stopping the rain, is it? I really hope it doesn't get worse than this. We've never seen weather this bad in a long time, eh?_

The palette and brush were left on the floor. Tuesday opened a cupboard on the side and look out a Mentos.

_Yeah man. And the traffic's looking pretty bad! A lot of cars got stranded already; especially those that go real low._

The girl yawned and stretched on her chair, followed by aimless rolling. The garage could fit two and a half minivans. There was a lot of space to go around in.

_At least students could look forward to tomorrow. Looks like school's going to be suspended!_

Back to the painting, it was looking kind of finished. Let's hope the teacher would approve of all that blue.

_Just the students? What about us? I don't even think we can get out of the studio today._

Tuesday tilted her head to the side and rolled to see her painting in different angles. It seemed finished. Too lazy to was the brushes, they were just chucked into the turpentine mug and the glass palette was carefully placed on the floor. The girl stood up to stretch and grabbed the remote control, ready to leave the "studio," also readying herself for the shower she's in for as she walks back to the house.

_Well, slumber party! We should totally—fzzz –dzzz—it'd be—like the—Dszz—Dammit—we're not—teenage gir—ssss _

The ceiling light started to swing and dwindle just as the radio fizzed to a stop. Tuesday narrowed her eyes at the situation, holding on to her desk. Wind started to blow, and the swishing sound of water could actually be heard from outside.

The ground started to shake and the light had died out. Both hands were on the desk now. Thank God it had been screwed on to the floor. Tuesday couldn't see so clearly in the dark, but something told her that water was starting to seep into the room. The varnished floorboards weren't shiny enough to have a liquid glittering sheen.

A large force shook the ground, and Tuesday was thrown to the floor. _Yep the water's in aright…_ She could feel the dampness on the sleeves of her hoodie and the most part of her legs.

Another large shake came, and Tuesday knocked her head on the underside of the desk. A giddy, spinning sensation took over. She wondered if she'd wake up in the Land of Oz before she lost the train of thought.

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><p>"Wull blow mah horn, tha darn flood dragged in a new rest stop ta Ra'iator Springs."<p>

"I wouldn't call it a rest stop, Mater. Looks like some kind of work shop to me."

"Wull ah sure hope Sheriff wunt ticket the car responsible fer this mess o'er here."

"The water's done enough mess. Come on, let's get to Luigi's. He needs help collecting the lost tires."

_Ugh. Jesus. What's this._ A conversation between a hillbilly and an American city boy broke Tuesday's sleep. The sunlight was piercing through her eyelids, which shouldn't happen, because the garage was supposed to be an enclosed room. But not anymore. A dull ache in her back prompted the girl to stretch on the floor. In the process, her hand accidentally pushed one of the easel's legs, knocking the entire support and the canvas over. And by a domino effect, other canvases propped on the easel's legs that covered her from the eyes of Radiator Springs.

"Wait. Whut's that sound?" There was a sound of creaking, rusty metal that accompanied the hillbilly accent.

_Oh shit._

But it was too late. Tuesday was sprawled awkwardly on the floor, tired, damp, and in mid-stretch, as she came face to face with a red racecar and a rusty tow truck.

"Uhh… Hi," Tuesday squeaked.

Both cars' eyes widened considerably, and the tow truck clung to the racecar with its front wheels. "Lightnin'! I-Its talkin' ta me!"

It was the girl's turn to be terrified. She scrambled away from the two vehicles as fast as she could, kicking the turpentine mug in the process, and tried to stay as far into the studio as possible, ignoring all the bodyache.

"I-It's dem alien ghostlights! Noooo! Lightnin' I-I still got more years in me engine…" The truck became hysteric, loose metal clanked louder than it did, and he decided to hide behind his automobile friend. This animated display seemed to only scare the human girl more.

A deep blue Hornet came into view. His eyes looked straight into hers. "Well I'll be," the husky voice whispered, "I'd never thought I'd see one in this lifetime." He drove closer to the garage, stopping at the opening where a wall gave out. "Come on now, we won't hurt you," his voice sounded comforting, like that of a grandfather. There was something in it that Tuesday felt she could put her trust in.

Slowly, the girl found her feet and inched towards the talking car, but slipping halfway through from some rain and turpentine residue on the wooden flooring. The three cars gasped at the view and the sound of the impact. The critter seemed really weak and fragile, not to mention small and frail, well, compared to cars. "I'm alright," she wheezed, and slowly got back up to meet the cars.

By "meet," it meant standing a good two meters away from the first one, being the one called "Doc."

"What is it?," the racecar whispered to Doc, but it was audible to Tuesday.

"Humans," he replied, "the highly developed beings who rumored to exist in another world that could understand abstract reasoning and communicated with languages."

"You mean like cars."

Tuesday involuntarily raised an eyebrow at the racecar's reply, and it wasn't ignored by Doc Hudson. "Well yes, but they invented cars, inanimate ones that were used for their travel."

"So, so y'mean it's kinda like our, y'know, creator?" The tow truck peered from behind the racecar, now less scared as there was less movement by the human, and Doc was around.

"Not us, but their own version of cars," Doc replied. "Miss, if I do get your gender correctly, may I have your name?"

Tuesday looked at the three of them, and blinked a few times, "Tuesday."

"Gee, y'must 've hit yerself pretty hard in 't storm, girly. It's Tuesday, but we're askin' fer yer name," Mater piped up, all the shiver and clatter had already left his engines.

She got that all the time, "No, my name _is_ Tuesday." She turned to Doc, "Umm… Tuesday Winterson. Nice to meet you, Doctor Hudson." She extended her right arm out of habit, but retracted it awkwardly and pretended to scratch her head, seeing that there was nothing for her to shake hands with. She just smiled sheepishly at the awkwardness of the situation, cue a shiver from her damp clothes.

"Welcome to Radiator Springs Miss Winterson," Doc looked over to the other two vehicles, giving them a knowing look.

"Oh, excuse me manners. Muh name's Mater," the tow truck gave a small bow.

The red car revved its engine first, slightly startling Tuesday, then it pivoted, showing off the "95" on its side, "Lightning McQueen. Ka-Chow!"

"Enough of that, Hotrod," Doc gave a light reprimand, "Now, Mater, could you help tow our guest to Flo's? Maybe she could find a nice place to dry off."

The word "tow" immediately registered in Tuesday's brain, and it didn't have a very good dictionary definition if it were linked to what Mater was going to have to do with that look. She shot Doc a look between horrified and incredulous. Mater just looked from the girl to Doc, back to the girl, and back at Doc, eyeridges furrowed in confusion.

"You could let her sit in your back carriage," Doc slightly chuckled as he drove off with McQueen, leading the way.

The girl took ginger steps towards Mater. She could see in the truck's eyes that it wasn't too enthusiastic about letting an unknown object sit in it as well. He drove and positioned himself in front of her, lowering his hook, "Now hang on ta that, girly, and I'll hoist ye up on me back carriage."

Tuesday grabbed on to the hook, and she felt herself get lifted on the ground and on the truck. She was hesitant about sitting at first, familiar with the rough texture of rusting metal from several art adventures. It was a bad day to wear shorts.

Realizing that the truck would probably start moving if she settled down, she placed herself cozily, back resting on the truck's… well… could she call it a head? She couldn't be bothered if the red would stain her gray hoodie or her blue shorts. There were more important things to worry about.

_How to survive?_

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><p>Weeeelll. How was that? I know, first chapters are always a bit of a bore. Or rather, I tend to be bad at it. Anyways, more to come soon!<em><br>_I would really appreciate any critique in any sort of way. Please review, alright? :)_  
><em>


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hi! The second chapter now. :D The more interesting bits aren't in yet, I guess. :/ Thanks for the support though! The alerts, faves, and reviews. It would really help, critique and comments.

The usual disclaimer goes here!

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><p>Radiator Springs was in ruins. The Leaning Tower of Tires turned into the tire archipelago called Indonesia, the neon on Ramone's House of Body Art and Flo's V8 Café started showing typos, and Red's flowers either drowned or ran off with the rainwater. The Cozy Cones were still upright, but there was a high chance that the furniture weren't.<p>

A cloud of depression followed the three cars as they see their home in shambles yet again. It has been a day or so since they started repairs, having waited for the rain to subside. Not that it was too bad. Like what Doc said before, "If Hotrod paved this road in two days, we'll get Radiator Springs up and running again in no time."

"Hey, Ramone," Doc called into the store.

The impala, still stained in a mismatch of different colors from repainting the place, called back, "Dude," he greeted, "need a new paint job?"

Doc gave a hearty chuckle, "Maybe after cleaning up," he replied. "Don't you have that drier for those rushed paint jobs?"

"Well, you're in luck Doc, I just got it working," the lowrider smiled. His shop was slowly but steadily getting ready to flip that sign from "close" to "open."

The hornet lifted a fender to call Mater in, "I need to get something dried off." The tow truck went in on reverse, revealing its cargo.

"Bring 'em in, dude," Ramone called. It was almost like his shop was open again. The critter was curled up into a ball, still shivering in its damp clothes. "What's that? It's so… small," the impala commented. Mater looked through his side mirrors and gently tapped the hook on the girl's shoulder. She got his signal and held on to it as she was fished out from the carriage.

"Doc's says she's a _hoo-men_. We found 'er in the big box thang that got washed 'n here 'n the flood," Mater happily provided the answers. Ramone raised an eyebrow, but nodded anyway.

Tuesday stumbled as soon as her feet met the ground. Her back was a bit stiff and her feet were a bit like jelly. _I guess I wasn't moving for quite some time…_ She took ginger steps at first, making sure she wouldn't fall.

"Over here," called the impala. Tuesday found herself standing right in front of something similar to those electric hand dryers in public toilets—except that was five times the size and the vent was facing her.

Ramone glanced at her. Her eyes were big at the sight of the dryer, brows knotted together in confusion, and lips twisted to one side in question. "Just relax, dude. It's gonna be alright," he reassured, driving forward to switch the machine on.

The dryer whirred to life, blowing warm air in a non-gentle way. Tuesday was too preoccupied shielding her eyes from the gush of air, she started to lose her footing. As soon as she was about to stumble backwards, her hip met a solid surface. It was the car…_what was his name? –Oh! Ramone._

"Careful. Just rest on Ramone 'til you're nice and dry," the lowrider said with a smile.

The look on the girl's face was surprised, at first, then it softened to a smile similar to Ramone's. Maybe things weren't looking too bad for her, and maybe there was nothing to be scared of after all.

Well, _maybe._

Tuesday rested her hip, and occasionally her hand, and sometimes the rest of her weight on Ramone while she would bend down or turn around to dry her hair and the cold damp clothes that clung to her skin.

"It feels nice to be dry again," Tuesday commented as ruffled her chestnut hair—glad that the strands didn't stick to each other anymore, "Thanks Mister Ramone."

"No problemo. Just don't call me Mister. Don't hesitate to drop by Ramone's House of Body Art if you need a new paintjob alright?," the Impala just had put the ad in there.

A small chuckle escaped Tuesday's lips, "Do you think I can _have_ a paintjob?"

The lowrider wanted to say "_Of course, why not? You never know till you try," _ but Doc had beat him to it, saying, "Yes, thank you Ramone. We'll be going over to Flo's for some oil. You should get your morning quart if you haven't already."

Ramone smirked, "Yeah I got my oil already. The first quart Flo serves every morning."

Tuesday was hoisted up back up into the tow truck as they drove to somewhere she heard was called "Flo's." Being all dry, less cold, and more at ease with the idea of talking automobiles, she decided to talk to her—_do I call it my chauffeur?_

She turned around to face the vehicle's side mirrors to get a view of his face, "Umm, Mater?"

"Yup, that's m'name!" The tow truck replied in a jolly tone.

"Where are we going?"

"Flo's!" he replied as if it was the most obvious thing to Tuesday.

She pursed her lips, confused, "Who is this Flo you guys keep talking about? Wasn't that Ramone?"

"Oh riiight. Yer just new," Mater showed her a buck-toothy grin through his mirrors and said how Flo has the best oil in Route 66, or the entire galaxy even. He spoke of a tower of leaning tires, bumper stickers, cozy cones, organic fuel (he whispered that sometimes they weren't too safe), red flowers, an impound lot, dirt tracks…

There seemed to be a lot to comprehend in this little town, however small and disconnected to civilization it might seem to Tuesday. Well, after getting dried off by talking cars who actually seemed rather nice and gentle, she was starting to doubt herself is she was dreaming. Even lucid dreaming doesn't get this real, or so she's heard. But there was totally nothing _real_ about talking cars. And she is being 'towed' by a rusty one at the moment.

A 50's style diner started coming into view, a bunch of oversized orange cones in the background. "Flo's V8 Diner," Tuesday managed to make out, as the neon lights were off. There were a few more cars there. Some lounging about, others cleaning up.

"Stickers!" a female voice called. The red racecar zoomed off at a totally different speed from their drive earlier on. Tuesday followed the splash of red in her line of sight, and it lead to a pearly blur car. _Porche?_ Tim was a big fan of cars, and he had posters all over his room. She could guess the brands sometimes, if she tried hard enough. The one called 95 nuzzled the Porche.

_Ooh. Couple._

"Where were you all morning? I didn't think your rounds with Mater took so long," She nuzzled back. "I started getting worried because Luigi said he didn't see you."

"Luigi thought you were going to help with the tires," a yellow…Fiat? said, in an almost accusing Italian accent. It was followed by a string of unintelligible words from a smaller blue forklift.

The 95 car turned to the complaining duo, "Aww, come on guys. I'll help you later—"

"Guido just said that he finished collecting the tires," the one who calls himself Luigi translated with a deadpan.

It was quite amusing really, all these cars…

A snazzy showcar emerged from the café, all chrome lips and sea green tailfins. Man, Tuesday was impressed. Such beauty! _White walled wheels… _The art student inside her just want to sketch that car out. "Anything I can get you boys? The twins are out sick," her mid-western accent just made Tuesday a fan.

"Good morning, Flo," Doc greeted.

_Ooh. So thaaat was Flo._

"The usual from Mater and I," the hornet paused, and reversed to get a better look at Mater's shipment, "How about you?"

At that very moment, it was like Severus Snape took off her invisibility cloak. All eyes were on her, and she didn't quite know how to react.

"Whatever you're having," her usual calm and slow dialogue was reduced to a squeak.

Doc turned to Flo, shrugged a fender, knowing the showcar heard what the girl said.

"What do you have there, hun?" Flo curiously drove towards Mater, trying to get a better look at the creature that sat in its back carriage.

"Doc's says she's a _hoo-men_. We found 'er in the big box thang that got washed 'n here 'n the flood," Mater repeated what he explained to Ramone earlier.

It was like his explanation was ignored by Flo altogether, because she didn't question it. Her green eyes met Tuesday's brown ones.

"My, my, it's a pretty little thing you got there, Mater," her voice was low and smooth.

Tuesday giggled slightly at the comment, "Not as pretty as you though," she replied.

"Mhhm," Flo hummed, very happy at the compliment. "And she's darling too. Momma loves this baby." She went back inside the café as the three settled themselves down on a table. Soon, Flo came out with three glasses with straws. "Here's for Doc, Mater," Flo served each of them, "and here's for our new darling—" her dialogue was cut short, waiting for the girl to fill in the blanks.

"Tuesday," she happily replied.

"Here you go, hun. It's on the house for a pretty little missy like you," Tuesday took the glass from the showcar. A bit suspicious, Tuesday used the straw to stir her drink. Oil? Was it what they call their drinks or is it really motor oil? "Go on, don't be shy," Flo encouraged.

Looking over her shoulder to Doc and Mater, and looking over at the other cars… drinking this "oil" was absolutely normal. She stared right back into her cup, and her reflection showed great apprehension, but there wasn't really a choice now, was there?

Her fingers gingerly brought the straw to her lips, and she sipped slowly. In fact, as slow as she could. Once the oil reached the tip of her tongue, her eyes grew wide, and she placed the cup on the table.

_Motor oil._

"Uhh, Miss Flo…" Tuesday wanted to apologize and tell her that it wasn't that the oil was bad or anything, but it's just that people don't drink the same things cars do. She was planning this long-winded apology in her head, but she guessed that her act of setting the cup on the table spoke louder than anything else. "I can't drink oil."

"Then what do you drink, hun?" Flo asked, concerned. She was more worried about how the girl would survive than the oil on the table.

"Uhh… Water would be fine," Tuesday replied.

Flo's face immediately lit up, "Oh we've got a lot of that." Tuesday watched as the showcar went to take an empty cup from the café, "over here, Red!" she called. A fire truck responded. He lowered his hose and filled the cup with water.

"Here," Flo handed Tuesday the glass of water with her tire, "better?"

Tuesday took a sip, and then a gulp. Cool refreshing water. She hasn't had any since, well, she passed out. "A lot better," she smiled at Flo, "Thank you."

"Do you survive just by drink water?" Doc asked, rather worried for the girl, a mismatch in this world she was brought to.

As if on cue, her stomach grumbled. Rather loudly, too.

"Oh that don't sound very good there Miss Tuesday," Mater said.

"Err...I need to eat, too."

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><p>Hey guys. It won't be long before I march into the exam all for my year-end tests. This will probably be my last update, and I'll hope to get back on track updating this baby. Please do forgive any typos if any are spotted. I'm having a fever as I'm typing this out. Please do point them out so I could edit. :)<p>

Reviews are much appreciated!

And yes, I haven't even mentioned Fillmore in the story yet. Aaaah.


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